Friday, October 20, 2017

A VERY BAD MOM CHRISTMAS

This post is sponsored by Evite.

Hold onto your peppermint
schnapps-filled bra flasks, ladies, because A Bad Moms Christmas, the sequel to
the mom’s anthem of movies, Bad Moms, is coming out in December and we need
this. Holy common core, do we need this. So, what does it mean to be a “bad
mom” during the holidays even? These days, it can mean opting to not play with Lucifer’s doll, aka an Elf
on the Shelf, in the middle of the night by making it poop Hershey Kisses in
order to delight one’s children. But, if you need other examples of ways you’re
robbing your children of seasonal magic and wonderment, Pinterest has them in
the thousands.

In the days leading up to Christmas,
there are always ample opportunities to festively fuck up, and in anticipation
of A Bad Moms Christmas, I started thinking about my own “bad mom” moments, of
which there are plenty.

Picture taking

I don’t set out to be a fire-breathing
asshole whenever I want a decent picture with my kids, it just happens in this
#blessed family. First, you have to wrestle your kids into coordinated outfits
while they cry things like, “But it itches!” and, “The price tag is poking my
butthole. Why can’t you cut it off?” And it’s like, I love you, but notkeep a
$100 Ralph Lauren outfit you’ll only wear oncelove you. Then, you try to gather everyone in front of the
Christmas tree but Jimmy is snorting sugar off Sour Patch Kids and Aden is busy
kick-farting. Once you’ve wrangled everyone together, you have the impossible
task of getting everyone to smile in unison for two goddamned seconds. Good
luck with that. You could take one million pictures and one kid is going to
look like a constipated robot while another is busy staring off to the side at
ghosts, probably.

Elf on the Shelf

More like Elf on my Last Gotdamn
Nerve. I purchased an Elf on the Shelf a few years ago because I really do try
to make my kids’ childhoods magical. Sure, the thing looks like the stuff of
nightmares, but if it puts a smile on your child’s face, then it’s pretty worth
it to me. Except, creeping around at o’ dark thirty in the morning with a doll
to ruin your home on purpose, or
waking up in a cold sweat because you forgot to move the damn thing gets old,
really quick. Thankfully, my son was still too young to question why our elf
walked out on us after pulling stunts for less than a week. Unthankfully, he
saw the Elf on the Shelf box stuffed in a corner of our garage and had some
questions recently. Oops.

That’s a Prime shame

Amazon Prime is my hero during the
holidays. Well, year-round, really, but the week or so before Christmas, my
front porch looks like a shipping warehouse. Oh, you had your shopping done two
months ago? Cool. Cool, cool, cool.

The sight of Amazon packages isn’t
anything new to my son, because drinking and Prime-ing is a thing that
sometimes occasionally happens a lot. What was
a bit of a surprise, was my child stumbling upon a Christmas gift that was
pretty high up on his list. To good ol’ Saint Nick. This prompted some
questions that I awkwardly stumbled my way through.

“Well, sweetie, sometimes the elves
get really busy up at the North Pole, so they ask parents to help them out. So,
parents are kind of like Santa’s helpers.” Sure, we’ll stick with that.

To preserve my son’s belief in Santa,
I decided to use different wrapping paper for the gifts he’d put on his list
and sneak them under the tree the night of Christmas Eve. The problem? I
wrapped those in the Amazon boxes they came in. Oops. Again.

Will the real Santa Claus please stand up,
please stand up?

There is such a thing as too much
Christmas. I like to take my kid to different children’s events, and in
December there’s usually something happening every weekend. Which means that
last year my son saw a different Santa Claus every weekend. He took note. I had
to come up with a lie. A white lie. How appropriate for winter. My white lie
was that Santa is so busy preparing that he has to send out higher elves who
act as his assistants to make extra sure he knew what every kid wanted. Thankfully,
this explanation seemed to suffice. Unthankfully, my son wanted to see every
Santa’s assistant we ran into so he could give detailed explanations of the
things he wanted.

Sometimes our kids surprise us. Like
the time my son took the time to ask what I
wanted for Christmas. And, while I love and adore my family, sometimes us moms
could use a night off.

So, here’s what I’ll be putting on my
list to Santa this year:

Dear Santa,

This year, all I want is a night off to do
hoodrat stuff with my mom friends. I want to book a hotel so that I can eat
food I don’t have to cook and do boxed wine stands in a room I don’t have to
clean. I want to take a shower where little people aren’t smushing their faces
against the glass while making comments about my jello-ey ass. I want to put on
my good leggings and get ready with my girls to some good ol’ gangsta rap while
we sip on some mom juice. I want to take my squad to the theater where we can
take bathroom selfies and watch something not animated or made by Pixar. I want
to laugh my ass off and motorboat the pillows of a bed someone else will make
in the morning, all by 10 o’clock pm. Because this girl can’t keep her eyes
open past then anymore, who are we kidding?

A “bad moms” night out watching A Bad
Moms Christmas sounds pretty legit to me, but we all know girl time takes a lot
to pull off. Thankfully, Evite makes planning a night out with your girls super
easy. I don’t know about you, but with kids around, phone calls are off the
table unless the receiver wants an ear-full of screaming. Text messages are a
little better but I have a habit of mentally responding and then getting
sidetracked by my never-ending to-do list and the one million demands from tiny
humans.

Help Evite help you by sending your
friends a custom bad ass Bad Moms Evite invitation. Click on the invitation
below to get started.

Do. It. Now. Because procrastination
is gonna be a real kick in the labes come November 11 when you realize you
never got your shit together and have to sit at home scrolling through all the
pictures of your friends on Facebook who are going to see A Bad Moms Christmas
without you. Shit.